An Argument for Sadness

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize that goodbyes are just as much a part of the human experience as hellos, and just as special and important.

Last summer we said goodbye to our dear grandma, Andy. And this month, when we officially let go of the house that she and our grandpa built, it’ll be like saying goodbye to her all over again. My grandparents called this place "Narnia” because of its surrounding forest and magical feel, and it was our family’s primary gathering place.

In this world, we’re taught to avoid being uncomfortable – to seek pleasure and elude pain. The goal of the first-world, 21^st century human is to collect as many pretty, happy experiences as possible to build our best lives. Which is why whenever we’re confronted with sadness or situations that aren’t so pretty, we run from them, rush through them as quickly as possible or pretend they didn’t even happen. But through this experience of losing Andy, and then losing her home, I was taught to see sadness differently – as something not only unavoidable, but also very good for you.

Saying goodbye sucks, whether it’s a breakup or a death or letting go of something you cherished. But these moments are what add diversity of colour to the canvas of our lives.

Our hearts are like our brains. By denying ourselves sadness and other negative feels, we’re failing to tap into our heart’s full potential. You know how they say most people only use 10 per cent of their brains? (I know it's a rumour, but for the sake of this analogy...) By experiencing extreme heartbreak, it’s like accessing a bit more of that unused 90 per cent. Which, in my opinion, makes us more human, and more ourselves.

Andy and Gramps, my paternal grandparents, built Narnia 16 or so years ago. I remember that year as a difficult one for us, because to move to Collingwood, they had sold the house in Woodbridge that had been in my grandma’s family for years. My dad, uncles and aunt had all grown up there; me and all my cousins had spent most of our childhoods there. That house felt like a family member itself in a way, so when it sold, we were all depressed. But then Narnia came into the picture, and we fell in love with that space, too.

My point with that little story is that we all said a very difficult, very similar goodbye 16 years ago. But then we said a very happy hello. And both of those experiences impacted my life in very positive and dynamic ways in the long run.

Saying goodbye to this house is going to be an emotional challenge, but I’m at peace with the sadness of it. Because it’s a sad fucking situation, and it’s happening, and I’m going to let it affect me just like letting go of my grandmas and my grandpa did.

At the end of my life, I’d like to take a step back and enjoy the work of art I created together with the universe, and I’d like it to be splattered with colour from edge to edge. No white spaces. And the only way to make that happen is to accept and, if possible, embrace, the bad stuff as much as the good – every hello, every goodbye, every “I love you” and every “fuck you” that comes my way.